


For Her

by CelestePhantasm



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-28 06:12:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10825410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestePhantasm/pseuds/CelestePhantasm
Summary: Arti is the most important person in the world to (Name). She’s only a child, perhaps five years old, and she must endure the hardships of the Glade with only her older sister at her side.(Name) will do anything,anything,for her little Arti.Thankfully, Newt is there to help.





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _DISCLAIMER:_** I do **NOT** own _The Maze Runner_ or any of its contents or characters. This is written purely for fun; I make no profit from this.
> 
> Hello! This is a product of a Tumblr request from more than a year ago.
> 
> This was the request:
> 
> “Could u write Newt x Reader, where reader is sent up to the glade with her 5 year old sister (your choice of name) and she’s protective over her and scared. Newt makes them feel welcome and her sister starts to like him. He makes her laugh and plays with her which makes the reader like him too. One night the reader has a meltdown and newt finds her in her room. She blames herself for not being able to make things better for her sister and he comforts her. With fluff at the end? Please and thanks"
> 
> No warnings on this! I hope you guys enjoy it!

Disorientation.  
  
That’s all I feel.  
  
I can’t think, at first; whatever I’m in was shaking and moving and I feel my bones rattle, my teeth chatter and click against each other viciously.  
  
But as my senses come back, the rattling and shaking settling in, I feel empty…and scared.  
  
The first word out of my mouth feels both natural and utterly wrong, “Arti?”  
  
There’s a gap in my head. I’m missing information. Names, things I should know, faces I should be able to recall, but there’s a space in my memory so wide it feels like something has been ripped out.  
  
Like a peach with its pit pulled free.  
  
But I know one thing—the thing that made me speak, and panic is rising, and I say it again, and again, feeling around me in the pitch black.  
  
Something is missing.  
  
I crawl around, saying the name over and over, until I feel warmth, softness, and I gasp. The pitch black is as disorienting as the movement around me, and it takes a moment, but my hands feel across the only thing I’ve found in this place.  
  
I feel an arm…hands, legs, and I feel my heart hammering as I feel for the head, fingers ghosting over soft skin, and finally, finally, I find what I want; the soft gusts of breath.  
  
I feel like I could cry with relief. Alive. Asleep, clearly, but alive, and I gather the limp body in my arms.  
  
I can do no else.  
  
I scoot over the floor until I find an edge, leaning in to it, cradling the most important thing I have to me, hoping beyond all reason that my little bundle doesn’t awaken.  
  
The name doesn’t feel right, though. Arti. …Artemisia. That’s not her name. I don’t know her real name…but this name doesn’t sit on her right, it seems misaligned with what I know to be this little figure.  
  
I’m missing things I don’t know how I could be missing. I know she’s my sister. I know she’s little, probably five. The number feels right. I can see her face in my mind.  
  
But the information around her is gone. Our parents…I don’t know what they look like. I can guess, from her face, maybe.  
  
Her real name is nowhere to be found, no matter how long I sit and think on it.  
  
I can’t even think of her birthday.  
  
All I know is that she’s my sister, and she’s all I have—my head is empty of everything else, and she is everything to me.  
  
Whatever is going on, whatever this is…she’s what matters. I find myself certain that I would do anything for her. I’ll fight, I’ll protect her, I’ll care for her, I’ll give my life for her, I’ll kill for her.  
  
Whatever this is…  
  
She’s everything.  
  
Though the certainty lingers, I feel fear creeping in. Time is trickling by. I fear she’ll awake to this hellish darkness, and I don’t want her to. But if she does, I’m wrapped around her. I can only hope that her brain isn’t as empty is mine. I can only hope that she isn’t as scared as me.  
  
And I know I’ll pretend I’m not, to keep her calm.  
  
I feel her snuffling in to my chest after what seems an eternity, but I’m certain it’s not more than fifteen minutes, in reality. She’s stirring, waking up, moving against me and pushing toward my warmth, and the movement tells me all I need to know.  
  
She’s already scared.  
  
“Shh, baby. It’s okay,” I say, loud enough to be heard over the rattling of our prison. I’m certain she’s terrified, and I rub her back gently. “You’re alright. I’m here.”  
  
It feels natural, taking care of her. Maybe our parents are dead.  
  
Even though I don’t remember them, the thought causes a dull ache in my chest.  
  
Her shifting slows, and she presses in to me, her little arms going around me tightly. “(Name)?” The name sounds as strange as hers, but somehow, I know it’s mine. Somehow, that’s supposed to be my name. I hope it doesn’t feel strange to her. I hope she doesn’t feel the way I do. “It’s you, right?”  
  
“Yeah, sweetheart,” I say, stroking her hair gently. My picture of her is right; I feel how long it is, thickly silky and trailing halfway down her back, and her voice is familiar—I find comfort in the fact that something is correct in my head. “It’s me.” I sigh, and pull her close, and she snuggles in to me. “You okay?”  
  
That’s my priority. Making sure she’s alright.  
  
She nuzzles in to me, and I feel her shaking. “Where are we? What’s going on?” The fear in her voice rips at my heart worse than my own terror at awakening. The fear I felt for her is nothing compared to the sorrow that grips me at the thought that she’s scared. “Where are Mom and Dad? (Name), I don’t remember them!”  
  
I pull her in to me as tightly as I can, swallowing down the tide of emotions threatening to rip through me. I stuff them in to the empty pit in my head, crushing them, and I take a breath. “I don’t know,” I say, taking pleasure that my voice is reasonable and level. It makes me feel like I can keep control. Keep us calm. “I don’t remember, either, little one,” I say, keeping the words controlled. She needs to know she’s not alone. That I’m here, and I’ll do whatever I can for her. “But we’ll figure things out. Okay? You and me.”  
  
She sniffles—I suspect she’s been crying already, but she’s fighting it. Something in the back of my head tells me she’s advanced for her age. She’s special. “(Name)?”  
  
“Yeah, honey?”  
  
She presses in to me, cuddling close, and I tighten my arms in response. She’s most important. “Are you scared?”  
  
I take a breath, thinking for a moment. “A little,” I say, knowing I should—she shouldn’t be ashamed of being scared. “But whatever is going on, I’ll take care of you.” I bend my head, and I kiss the top of hers, gently, sighing. “I promise.”  
  
Though I feel her shaking, she thanks me, and buries her head in my chest, cuddling back in to me, and I do the only thing I can; I rub her back, playing with her hair, talking to her softly, hoping that this ride is almost over. We can’t move forever. I’m certain of it.  
  
When we finally stop, the movement is jarring, and whatever we’re in swings to and fro by an inch or so, for just a little while, until, at last, all is silent, still, and dark.  
  
This is almost worse than the ride.  
  
As I begin to panic, wondering why we’ve stopped, why nothing is happening, I feel Arti shuffling against me, clearly as distressed as I am—maybe more. So I hold on to her tighter, rubbing her back, shushing her when she whimpers.  
  
Then, light.  
  
Blinding, overwhelming, eyeball-stabbing light, and I groan, flinching, clinging to Arti, shirking away from the horrid glow.  
  
I hear voices, whispers, urgent, but indistinguishable, and Arti is pressing closer to me, too.  
  
Instinct tells me to put her behind me, but I’m on the floor, with her tiny form nearly seared to my torso, wrapped around me like a lifeline, and I do the only thing I can—wrap myself as tightly around her as I can, making sure my arms are covering as much of her as I can.  
  
“Is that…a girl…?”  
  
It’s the first words I can understand, and they’re low. Male. I dare a peek up toward the blinding light, but my eyes have begun to adjust from total darkness, and I see shapes, slowly defining themselves in to bodies.  
  
All boys.  
  
They look filthy. Some are covered in dirt, a few in bandages, and all covered in sweat.  
  
And they all look shocked.  
  
I can feel the adrenaline beginning to pump through me, pounding through my body with every beat of my heart. This fear, I don’t fight. This fear, I embrace, because I don’t know what I look like, but I know I have someone to protect—even if I’m small, I’ll fight to protect her, to save her, and while my head tells me that they don’t look vicious, instinct is shrieking in my head, terrified.  
  
I’m a girl, with a child to protect, among too many boys.  
  
I must look as wild as I feel, for two of the boys tell the others to back up. One is a dark-skinned, stern-faced guy, looking like he’s in his late teens, with tense shoulders and a heavy stare I can feel even several feet below him. He carries authority on his shoulders and he looks intimidating, as scary as the rest, looking muscular and just less than bulky. The other is his polar opposite. It’s a pale blond, all limbs, lanky and almost scrawny-looking, with a contemplative, if almost soft face. He has all his weight on his left leg, and even with the slight slouch he has, his arms folded over his chest, he looks taller than the other. His face is young—he’s gotta be a year younger than his companion, but there’s something intense in his eyes.  
  
They speak quietly, for a little while, and I don’t move—they’re watching me even though they’re talking, and I have nowhere to go, anyway. I’m clearly at least six feet below them, in a metal box with no way out but up. So I hold Arti, curling more tightly around her, whispering to tell her not to make a single noise.  
  
I can tell I’m not stupid—instinct tells me not to speak, so that I don’t say the wrong thing, and it tells me to do whatever I have to to protect Arti. I wrestle with the urge to try to sneak her behind me, but I suspect they already see her, though they aren’t saying anything.  
  
Finally, the two drop down on to a small ledge I can’t see—it can’t be even a foot down from where they were—and they peer at me in silence. “You gonna get up, Greenie?”  
  
Greenie? The word sounds strange. Off. It sounds like it’s being used as a name. “Where am I?” I refuse to acknowledge the tiny, frightened figure in my arms. I’ll pretend she’s not there if they will, as long as it benefits me.  
  
“Call it The Glade,” the dark-skinned one says, shifting his weight. “My name is Alby. This here’s Newt,” he says, gesturing to the lithe, fluffy-haired male at his side. “Come on. Get up, and we’ll get you out of there.”  
  
“Why should I trust you?” The words are defensive, I know, but I have to ask them. The most dominate thing in my head is Arti—watching out for her, making sure she’s safe, making sure that, whatever I do, it’s for her. She’s all I have—I’m not even sure I have myself—and she’s the one thing I can hold on to.  
  
The boys look at each other for a moment, and then, slowly, the blond one crouches. “Well, first, if we wanted to hurt you, we already could’ve,” he says, not threateningly, but the words are thoughtful. His accent is strange—it’s different from the other boy’s. “Second, you don’t have a lot of choice,” he says, and there’s a whisper of humor in it. I know he’s right, so I don’t hold that against him. “And third…most of us have been in there, Greenie. Know how scared you are,” he says, and I tilt my head. What is he talking about? “That ride’s no peach and we want to get you out of there.”  
  
He stops, and he watches me as I take it all in. Time has not relieved Arti’s fear…but mine has begun to simmer lower, rather than boiling beneath my skin. His words are logical. He’s right, that I have no choice; if I want out, I have to go up. If this thing drops…how long was I moving? Thirty minutes? If this thing drops, I’m dead…and so is Arti. I’m certain of it.  
  
And as frightening as Alby looks, Newt looks equally gentle. He looks genuine. There’s something in his face that tells me to trust him.  
  
Maybe it’s those wide, honest eyes of his. Maybe it’s his honest words.  
  
And maybe it’s the realization that I have to trust someone—and right now, he’s as good as any.  
  
He shifts. “Gonna come down and get you,” he says, apparently reading my resignation. “Get up. I’ll have to hand you up to Alby,” he says, and I stiffen.  
  
Arti.  
  
I don’t want to trust Arti with anyone else.  
  
I hesitate, but Arti breaks her silence, finally giving in to her impatience and fear, “You’re gonna get me out, too, right?”  
  
Newt’s entire body goes solid as a rock, and Alby nearly tumbles in to my cage at the small, high voice.  
  
Arti is squirming away from me, looking up at me, eyes wide and wet with tears, clearly terrified, “(Name), you won’t leave me in here, will you?”  
  
I’m not sure how they didn’t recognize that there was someone in my lap, wrapped in my arms. But now they know, and I feel a knot tightening in my chest, not just for fear about her, but for heartbreak. “Oh, honey, of course not,” I say, giving in, turning my attention to her. I push her hair back from her face carefully, trying to smile at her. “Wouldn’t leave you for anything, sweetheart.”  
  
Arti stares at me in a way that only a child can—wide-eyed and wild, seeking, trusting, scared, as though all her hopes depend on me. “You swear?”  
  
“I promise,” I say, pulling her in to me tightly. “They’d have to kill me to get me away from you, and it’d be tough even then.”  
  
Those big eyes look at me again, hopeful, and finally, finally, she cuddles back in to me, and I sigh.  
  
Alby and Newt are still in shock, so I take just a moment to gather myself. I need to be strong for Arti. And I need to let them know that, whatever is going on, nothing happens to her.  
  
Caring for her feels natural. It feels more natural than breathing; my name feels false, and so does hers. This place seems impossible. This…elevator, or whatever it is…it’s not normal, either. Everything feels wrong…except for caring about her. I begin to doubt that my parents have been alive recently. I wonder…I wonder if I’m all she has.  
  
In that case, I’ll fight even harder. I’ll do anything for her. The fact that it feels so normal to care for her…that it feels normal to feel like I’m the only one who will…  
  
I fear it’s true. Our parents are probably gone.  
  
But she has me, and I’ll give her everything.  
  
I level my eyes at the two boys, taking a steadying breath, before I focus on Newt. I’ve made up my mind—I trust him better than Alby. “This is my sister. Nobody hurts her, nobody touches her.” I pause, taking a slow breath again. “I’d take the world apart for her. Understand?”  
  
If I know nothing—not even my real name—I know the truth of that. I would kill for her. I’d die for her. These are things I know with all certainty.  
  
Newt looks at me, and his face softens wholly, finally. “Greenie, nobody here’s gonna hurt you. Either of you. Not what we do here,” he says, and his voice has gone gentle. “Can promise you that. Now. Will you let me get you out?”  
  
I take a breath, but the look on his face…I believe him.  
  
I sigh, and I allow the tension to fall out of me, letting myself shake for just a moment as the adrenaline thrums through me. At last, I pull Arti from me gently. “Honey, will you stand up, please?”  
  
She obeys me, and in the light, I can see her better. I find comfort, once more, in the fact that my memories about her, so far, seem to be right. She’s little, but not too small; she’s five, six at the most, and though I’m angry that I can’t remember her exact age, something tells me that five is right. And despite her fear, she looks at me like I’m the world and everything in it, and her eyes are wide with wonder as she glances around, but she stays close.  
  
I climb to my feet, too, feeling myself shake. The adrenaline is still there. I’m not sure it’s going to go away until I find trust in my surroundings.  
  
Newt motions, after a moment, for us to back up, and I lift her in to my arms, drawing her with me to the opposite side of our tiny prison. I see him take a breath, and then, he braces himself, dropping in with us, and for a moment, he looks scared, and in pain, and all his weight shifts to his left again. _Is he injured?_  
  
But a moment later, he holds his hands up to me, seeming to realize how I’m feeling. “Not gonna hurt you two,” he says, softly, and he comes closer when I nod. Arti has already turned toward him, her wide eyes looking at him alertly.  
  
Despite all that she’s endured, a big smile crosses her face, and my heart lifts as it hasn’t for what seems eternity. “Your hair is really fluffy,” she says.  
  
He stares at her, and I can’t keep myself from laughing softly, but he grins, surprising me. I feared he’d be angry. But instead, he seems delighted with the comment, and he comes closer, looking at her. “Do you think so?” When she nods, he smiles, “My name is Newt. What’s yours?”  
  
Her face contorts, and I see the fear starting to come back. “…Is my name Artemesia, (Name)?” Her head has swung back to me.  
  
I don’t know what to do. I’m certain it doesn’t feel right. But it scares her. Newt steps in, “Well, you know, my name isn’t really Newt,” he says, suddenly, and there’s a sorrow on his face, but his words are warm. “But we don’t know our real names, love. I like your name.”  
  
She thinks about that for a little while, and then nods, looking a little comforted. I sigh quietly, giving him a heavy look—I appreciate what he says, and it tells me a lot. “I call her Arti,” I say, slowly, holding her a little tighter. I’m not sure why, but this boy…I trust him. There’s something soothing about him. Something gentle. I can’t seem to get past it. “I’m (Name),” I offer.  
  
He watches me for a moment, and then he nods. At last, he looks at Arti, and he smiles at her, gently. “I’ve gotta get you two out of here, Arti. You see that bloke up there?” He nods toward Alby, and Arti diverts her attention, before focusing on Newt again—she nods. “He’s gonna help you out. I can only get one of you out of here at once. Do you want me to hand you to Alby first, or do you want (Name) out, and I’ll hand you to her?”  
  
Her lip trembles, and I see her fighting not to ask why we can’t get out at once. But I squeeze her softly. “I trust Newt. Want me to go first, so you can come to me?”  
  
She nods, and nuzzles my shoulder, clinging to me.  
  
Newt nods, and I can see that this isn’t normal for him, but he’s doing his best. So I walk with him to the edge where Alby waits, and I take a deep breath, talking Arti in to letting me put her down. She looks lost, not holding on to me, but I also see her trying to be tough.  
  
Newt looks at me, looks me up and down—is he guessing how heavy I’ll be? But he smiles at me. “Okay. Face Alby,” he says, and I do. His hand touches my shoulder gently. “Gonna be okay, Greenie.”  
  
I take those words in, but I don’t have long; his hands are on my hips, and he’s telling me to stretch, and he lifts me.  
  
He’s stronger than he looks.  
  
Alby is ready for me; he uses Newt’s momentum and I nearly fly to the edge of the box, gasping, but Alby braces me safely, and he lets me get my balance. I thank him, and turn back, looking down at Arti. She’s already grabbed on to Newt’s shirt hem, looking nervous and nearly scared, but he crouches, getting down to her level. I can see him smile at her, and he speaks to her quietly, and she wraps her arms around his neck. He stands with her in his arms, and he’s more gentle than I expected; even more gentle than he was with me, and he’d surprised me with that.  
  
She’s so small in his arms that it’s nearly funny; curled in his grasp, she’s not as big as his torso, and he stands right below me, murmuring to her.  
  
I’m glad he’s gentle.  
  
At last, I see her head nod, and he turns her around in his arms, shifting her carefully, and she climbs to his shoulders, standing, and he presses to the wall. She’s tall enough to reach for me, though I have to crouch, and I pull her in to my arms, relief flooding me, holding on to her for a time, before I sigh. Then, I pause, and turn down to Newt, “…How do we get you out?”  
  
He smiles at me, nodding toward Alby, “He’ll manage. You two sit for a minute. Calm down a bit.”  
  
I shake my head, “No. I’ll help. You helped us.”  
  
He thinks about this, but I don’t give him much choice—I whisper softly to Arti, and she allows me to put her down, stepping to the side, though she looks worried. Her eyes are darting around, but I know I should deal with one thing at a time, and it’ll make me feel better to help get Newt out of there.  
  
It’s not easy.  
  
Alby leads; he crouches at the edge of the thing, and tells me to leave enough room for Newt between us. Newt backs away, takes a breath, and runs the tiny space, leaping for its edge. “Bloody hell,” I hear him mutter, but he’s grabbed on, and Alby reacts fast, grabbing one wrist, and I follow. We both pull, and Newt helps, using his own strength, tensing to the point of pain so he’s easier to lift, and finally, with great effort, Newt is up and out of the tiny prison.  
  
He grins at me, “You’re tougher than you look.” There’s surprise in the tone…but there’s warmth, too. But his eyes go to Arti, and he gestures for her, and she comes, wrapping around one of my legs. “You okay, Arti?”  
  
I should be paranoid that he’s paying her so much attention, I think. But instead, I’m comforted. He’s being sweet, and gentle, and looking after her, and something in me still trusts him. Something has latched on to him, and though I appreciate Alby, Newt is the better of the two in my mind. And the fact that he’s trying to keep both of us calm…I appreciate it. She’s my priority. I appreciate any effort to ease her.  
  
And though she’s clinging to my leg, she gives him a little, timid nod, and he smiles at her. Alby approaches, too, and they speak for a moment again, but, finally, Newt gives a nod, and they stand close. I’m forcing myself to focus on these two; I can see others, at the edge of my vision, and I know there are more boys because of their appearance when the doors opened, but it’s all a lot to take in. The place is enormous…and it looks like it’s outdoors. There’s a forest, and a garden, and a place with animals. Yet there are walls. I can see them, towering over the place, gray and menacing, and all of it together is nearly too much to take in.  
  
My own name is unfamiliar, I remember next to nothing, and I’ve been dropped—more like launched—in to a realm of nothing but boys with my little sister. It’s enough that I’m sure it’d be reasonable to be crying.  
  
But I’m holding together well, and I’m going to stay that way, for Arti.  
  
Alby finally speaks. “You’re the first girl to come up, Greenie…and we’ve never had a…”  
  
“A child?” I supply the word without fear. “How old’s the youngest of you?” I pause, and it strikes me. “…Other than us.”  
  
Alby gives Newt a sideways glance. “Thirteen,” he says, slowly, but his eyes are on me. “And you’re probably fifteen.”  
  
It strikes me then, too, that I didn’t think of my own age. I don’t even know it, for sure—even Arti’s age is speculative. I pause, looking at my hands, wondering at the thought. …I’m fifteen? I can’t be fifteen. I’ve got to be seventeen, eighteen. I don’t feel fifteen. Newt seems to see me beginning to panic, and he shakes his head, “Lot of us seem to be mature for our age, Greenie.”  
  
I hesitate, but I feel Arti reaching up to tug on my shirt, and I look at her. She’s reaching for me, and I know what she wants, so I sweep her in to my arms, resting her weight on my hip. I look at her for a little while, turning over all the information so far. “…Okay.” I don’t know what else to say.  
  
Alby does. “We’ve got some rules around here. Three of them are the most important.” I nod, to show him I’m listening. “First, never harm another Glader,” he says, slowly, but I can see, somehow, doubt. He doesn’t think he needs to worry, I suspect. I’ll fight for Arti, but I don’t feel like I’m a violent person. “Second, do your part. We can’t have slackers around here. There’s work to be done and we expect everyone to pitch in.” His eyes drop, though, to the little figure wrapped around me, and I see the pause there. “Of course, never anything you can’t handle,” he says, and the words are softer than I expect. Still, his eyes snap back to mine, and he takes a breath. “Third, and in many ways, most importantly…never go beyond the concrete walls,” he says, slowly and distinctly.  
  
My eyes wander to the gaps in the walls. One on each, right in the middle. My arms tighten, and I feel a chill. Those words are almost menacing. “You wanna tell me why?”  
  
Alby and Newt look at each other. They hesitate, and then Newt speaks again, “It’s not safe. But you have a lot to take in tonight, and it’s best if you wait until tomorrow to know what’s out there,” he says, slowly. I’m glad it’s him speaking. Alby is rougher, quicker, and there’s a blunt quality to him. But Newt has tact; he’s careful, and thoughtful, and the way he puts it is still scary…but it promises information.  
  
So I nod, reluctantly, and he gives me an almost-relieved smile. “Come on. I’m going to take care of you two today,” he says, softly. “And we’ll start with a little bit of food. You hungry?”  
  
We follow him, and though Arti refuses to walk on her own, food softens her worries. Newt introduces Frypan, the head Cook, and promises we’ll have dinner later…but says that we can have some food to tide us over, after the hard ride up. He doesn’t ask what I want—he throws together a sandwich for me quickly—and has two glasses of water waiting.  
  
The second sandwich is smaller…and I can smell what it is before he hands it to Arti. He ushers us out of the kitchen—Frypan is already cooking—and to the little net of trees in the corner, having us sit there. Arti climbs in to my lap, sniffing her sandwich, and Newt has carried our waters. She looks at him with her big eyes, “Peanut-butter?”  
  
“I put some thin apple slices on it for you,” he says, softly, clearly trying to be gentle. Some of the fear in me, some of the ice in my heart at the whole situation, shatters and melts away. I stare at him, and I think, right then, that I would kiss him if he’d let me.  
  
But Arti is in my lap, and she eyes the sandwich, before finally taking a little bite. I hear the apple crunch, but she thinks it over, before she grins, thanking him loudly, and dives in.  
  
Weight falls off my shoulders instantly. I take in a breath, and Newt hands me my water, placing another at my knee for Arti. I take a bite, too, and it’s good. It all tastes fresh, and I give a hearty sigh. I didn’t know I was hungry.  
  
He doesn’t say anything, but he lets us eat, and Arti is done before me, drinking the water, snuggling in to me, looking happier. But I’m thinking. All the things that they’ve told me…it’s not a lot. But it’s enough. I’m going to have to pull my weight. Arti can do a little. She’s a smart, sweet little girl. But she can’t work. She’s a child. She _shouldn’t_ work. She should be playing with other kids, going to school. Teenagers have been forced to work or quit school…but children? I can’t stand the thought of it.  
  
I’m beginning to trust them. The way the act…the way I see the other boys walking through the place, carrying heavy bags, or plowing the gardens…I know that part is true. And not believing them about leaving would be sheer stupidity. It’d be a pointless risk.  
  
My options are limited. I should be wary about them lying to me, but I know that failing to trust anyone is as dangerous as trusting too much…and something tells me that Newt is safe. If no one else, I trust Newt.  
  
So, as I finish my sandwich and sip my water, I finally decide I need to speak. “Guessing you’re holding off most of the info for tomorrow,” I say, testing my limits. They don’t know what to do, either.  
  
He leans against the tree he chose, and he looks at me. I can see him thinking. He has an open face, and I like that I can read him. “Yes,” he says, and at first, I think he won’t continue, because he doesn’t speak for a little while. “There’s a lot to tell you two…and a lot we have to figure out,” he says, and I see his eyes drop to Arti. She’s turned in my lap and snuggled in to me, pillowing her head on my shoulder, quite possibly napping. I’m sure today has been even harder on her than it has on me. “She’s…what, five?”  
  
I look down at her, but shift as little as possible. Her little body is cuddled in to me, but I can see and feel her breathing. I think she’s asleep. “Probably. She can’t be six,” I murmur, sighing.  
  
“Kid shouldn’t have to work. Alby’s a bloody slave-driver on bad days, but even he won’t do that to her.” He pauses, and I see him staring at her, his brows furrowed. “…But we can’t leave her on her own, either,” he murmurs.  
  
I stiffen, and then my arms tighten. I take a deep breath, and shake my head. “No. She’s too young,” I breathe, trying to resist stroking her hair. I want her to sleep, if she is. I hope she is. “What…what jobs do you have? If she’s going to follow me around, I want her safe. What wouldn’t put her in danger?”  
  
He pauses, and I see him thinking, hard. “Med-jacks, most of the time…but the Slicers get cut up a lot, and I don’t think you want her to see that,” he murmurs, each of us keeping our voices low. “Track-hoes. Work the Gardens…” I don’t hear an exception there, but he’s clearly running out of ideas, and he sighs so heavily I feel it myself. “Not many. I need to talk to Alby about it.”  
  
I’m worried. I can’t leave her, and by the looks of things, I don’t have a lot of options here. The boys look rough. Beat-up.  
  
I don’t want to risk Arti.  
  
I can’t.  
  
I lean back in to the tree I’m against, giving a heavy sigh, and for a time, I just watch everyone working. The world is mostly quiet around us, and I take the moment to take a deep, steadying breath. At last, I speak, slowly, keeping my voice low. I’m certain my tiny bundle has fallen asleep. “Thank you, Newt.” He hums in question, and I turn to see him watching the place, too. “For…well, for being so nice, but…for her,” I murmur, barely a breath. “You’re looking after her,” I say, softly.  
  
He turns to me, and his eyes drop, watching the tiny, exhausted figure for a while. “Can’t imagine what it’s like for her,” he says, softly, and his accent is thick with the slow pace of his words. “Lot of us come up crying, pissing ourselves,” he says, sourly. “Don’t know who we are or what’s going on, some don’t even know our name for a couple hours…can’t remember who we are, don’t know what we look like…” He pauses, and I see his eyes narrowed. He looks upset, almost in pain, and I see his hand rub his right ankle carefully. I don’t ask, though. Too soon. “She’s so small…I bet her first question was about her parents.”  
  
I drop my eyes, and I feel myself shudder. “Among others,” I murmur. “And I don’t have an answer for her,” I add, fighting back the tears stinging at my eyes. “Don’t know what they look like. I guess like her, but…I don’t know what they look like, or their names, or…or anything. I don’t know anything.” The words hurt. I know that I have no comfort to give her. I have nothing but myself. I have no words I can say and no deeds that can erase what’s happened.  
  
She woke up with no memories, too. She woke up longing for comfort and she woke up scared.  
  
I can handle it. I can tough it out, because I will eventually understand…and if I don’t, I can figure it out. I can adapt.  
  
But she’s just a little girl. My little girl.  
  
I feel like I’ve been made in to her mother, rather than her sister. But I’ll be what I have to, for her.  
  
“Hey.” The word is soft, and I feel a hand on my shoulder, and he’s there, suddenly, right beside me, his dark eyes meeting mine, and my thoughts stop. There’s something about his gaze, something in his eyes, something reassuring. I take a breath, and he keeps my gaze for a moment. “You’re both gonna be fine,” he says.  
  
I believe him. I have to.  
  
After a while, he stands, and I follow, waking Arti. He walks us around the Glade, pointing things out,  introducing me to a few people, but most of their names I’ve forgotten before we even finish approaching them.  
  
He was right. This is too much to take in at once.  
  
At last, he leads me in to what he calls the Homestead, and he meanders to the second floor. There aren’t even a handful of rooms there, but he knocks on one of the doors, and it swings open.  
  
Inside, I find only one bed, a small table, and a little cabinet for clothes. Sitting on the bed is Alby, looking thoughtful. He speaks slowly. “This is your room,” he says, slowly, sounding surprised by his own words. But he stands. “Thought you two could use your own space.”  
  
I stare at him, and I can feel the burn behind my eyes. “…Thank you.” Newt had told me that most of the boys slept outside on the ground, or in hammocks, if they were so lucky. I can’t imagine letting Arti sleep that way. She’s too little, all bones—she’d never find comfort that way.  
  
He nods, and he looks at Newt. With only a glance, Newt turns to me, and says that he’ll be back soon.  
  
They exit the room, and I head to the bed. It’s a single, but Arti is so small…we can share without any trouble. She climbs in to it, and I can see how tired she is, and, equally, I can see the fear on her face. “(Name)?”  
  
My throat is already clotting up, because I know I don’t have answers any better than she does, and I don’t have a way to comfort her. That’s worse than anything I’m feeling. Worse than my own lack of knowledge. “Yeah, baby?”  
  
“Where are Mom and Dad?”  
  
The question feels like it’s ripped my heart out of my chest. She’s already asked. But I know it’s going to be hard for her, impossible, even, to take in the idea that…she’s only got me. So I take a deep breath, trying not to show my tears, because I know I have to be strong for her. I have to be strong. I have to be everything that Arti needs. “I don’t know, Arti,” I say, slowly, taking another breath. “It looks like you’re stuck with me, for now,” I say, keeping my voice as level and light as I can, and I smile at her. “Am I okay, for now?”  
  
She watches me, with those same soul-piercing eyes, searching me, and finally, she nods. “But…we’ll see them again, right?”  
  
I don’t know if I can last the night with these questions. I’d rather cut my own arm off. It hurts, so much, because I know I’m not going to give her the answer she wants. This is torture for both of us, and I try to brace myself against the onslaught of pain I know I’ll face. The worst part is wishing I could do better for her. “I don’t know, sweetheart,” I say, slowly, reluctantly, and I see her face fall. She looks heartbroken, and I feel the ache in my chest physically.  
  
She crawls toward the head of the bed, turning away from me, and I see her trying not to cry. Her little shoulders are shaking, and I gulp down my own tears.  
  
I know from her body language that she doesn’t want me. But I can’t help it.  
  
I reach for her, pulling her in to my lap, and she resists, at first, throwing a fit, the tears finally breaking through.  
  
She’s been so tough, and she finally hit her limit.  
  
She’s flailing and screaming, wailing, crying as hard as she can, and I wrestle her down, wrap her in my arms, and she cries so hard her whole body shakes, pressing in to me for comfort, the only thing she has, giving up.  
  
I rock her, humming a faint melody I can’t actively remember, blinking back my own tears, and I work her down until she hiccups herself to sleep.  
  
Newt returns not long after, to see me putting her beneath the little blanket on the bed, gently rubbing her cheeks, pulling her hair from her face, and I can feel him watching me.  
  
I don’t care.  
  
I take a breath, the deepest one I can, steadying myself, and I let it out as slowly as I can. I finally turn to him, and he looks distressed, too. “She cried out?”  
  
I hesitate, and then I nod. “I don’t know what to tell her, Newt,” I breathe. “She wants our parents. But I don’t…I’m looking at you boys, and I know…it’s just us, isn’t it?” When he nods, my shoulders sag, and I rub my face. “I had to…I had to tell her, I don’t know…if we’ll see them again. I don’t even know if they’re alive, Newt,” I gasp, confessing the dark thought in a breath. “Caring for her feels natural. Like…like I’m her mother, not her sister. Like I’ve been doing it before,” I mumble, hugging myself.  
  
I can see that he doesn’t know what to say to me, so I sigh, turning back to look at Arti. I’m glad she’s finally asleep. Maybe she’ll find comfort there.  
  
His voice surprises me, when I hear it close by, “I talked to Alby. We figure…we’re gonna put you in the Gardens,” he says, slowly. “If we make you a Slopper, there’s a good chance Arti will see a bit more than she should. Sloppers clean the Bloodhouse,” he says, and I cringe. I don’t need to be told what that would mean. “And being a Cook would be dangerous for her. Lot of heat, lot of knives.” He pauses, and I know he’s watching her, now. He seems entranced by her. I suppose it’s strange, to them, having this happen. “Won’t make you do any of the dangerous stuff there. No heavy lifting, won’t have you somewhere she can get hurt…Alby and I talked it out. Figure that’s the best thing for you two.”  
  
I take a breath, trying to keep myself from trembling. “Can I ask you something, Newt?” I can feel him hesitating, but he finally agrees, with a little nod. “Those big walls…the way Alby runs this place…we’re trapped here, aren’t we?” I pause, but it’s not long enough to let him speak. “And don’t lie to me. I rode up in some crazy elevator where the only way out was up, it’s dangerous to leave this area, and we’re sent supplies, you said. Said we grow our own food and we’ve got those animals for meat. We’re stuck here,” I say, and I turn to him, staring him down.  
  
He doesn’t try to lie. I see the honesty in his eyes, and he takes one breath. “Beyond those walls is the Maze. We haven’t found the way out yet,” he says, slowly, quietly. “Been working on it a long bloody time,” he continues, and I can see him bracing himself for it. “But we haven’t found it, yet. And until we do…this is it,” he says, slowly, yet the words are distinct.  
  
I take that in, thinking on it, and then, reluctantly, I sigh. I turn back to Arti, feeling myself sag on the inside. I feel exhausted. “I’ll do anything to help. For her.” It’s all I can say, all I can think.  
  
She’s the one keeping me going. She’s the one keeping me strong.  
  
He lays his hand on my shoulder gently, squeezing me, and he pulls me to face him. He looks at me, meeting my eyes sternly, and he holds my gaze for a moment. “Get some rest, (Name). We all come up hard. Sleep helps.”  
  
I feel myself crumbling, and I know he’s right. I need to rest. So I nod, and I sigh. “…Thank you, Newt. And thank Alby for me.”  
  
He nods, and he backs away, going to the door. He hesitates for a moment, and then looks back at me. “I’m the door next to you.”  
  
When I nod, he’s gone, and he shuts the door quietly. I turn back to the bed, and I’m too tired to think anymore. I climb in after Arti, slinking beneath the blanket, and I curl around her carefully; she immediately snuggles in to me, and I drift off, determined to make this as easy as I can for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This, of course, has a part two, which I'll post at some point in the near future.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this, and if you do, kudos and comments do help—especially on ones where I have to remember to post a part two of the story!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _DISCLAIMER:_** I do **NOT** own _The Maze Runner_ or any of its contents or characters. This is written purely for fun; I make no profit from this.
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos and comments! I know the little teaser for "The Death Cure" just stormed Tumblr, so I think we're all a little more excited about things with a taste of what's to come!
> 
> I hope you enjoy part two!

The Gardens are boring…but they’re safe.  
  
Things had to be moved around, a bit; a couple of boys got moved to doing harder work, and Alby, Newt, and Zart, all assigned me to things like planting, weeding, and picking.  
  
Sometimes, Arti helps us. But she’s a little girl, with a somewhat short attention span, and she tends to like to play.  
  
She should.  
  
There’s not much we can give her, here, but the Builders cut up some boards in to blocks for her, and the Runners, with some reluctance, give her two sheets of paper a day—she’s careful with them, covering the back and front in drawings and the few words she knows, but she’s beginning to understand.  
  
It’s hard for her, but I’ve done my best to make it easier. I give her all the love and affection I can, taking extra time every morning to do her hair a different way. She likes braids the best, but I change it, so I can spend time with her. The boys don’t begrudge me.  
  
They love Arti, too.  
  
Newt, especially, seems fond of her. Every day, around lunch, he drops all his obligations and spends an hour with her. At first, it was because she needed someone to trust, someone to play with, and I was still learning—Zart spent a week teaching me thoroughly, so that, if I needed, I could take care of anything within the Gardens without help.  
  
But now, it’s because she asks for him, and even Alby can’t deny the sweet-faced little girl just one hour. 

It’s mostly the same, every time, but Arti loves it. She loves him, I’m certain; I’ve seen them running through the Gardens—his limp seems utterly forgotten when he’s with her—with Arti squealing and giggling, Newt pretending to just miss her. I’ve seen them play hide and seek behind corn stalks and between rows of bushy plants, and I’ve watched Newt roll in the grass with her.  
  
It’s perfect, because, after that, and lunch, she’s ready for a little nap, and she snuggles up on his hoodie and dozes off in the sun.  
  
I can hear Arti laughing, and I’m certain the rest of the Glade feels the same—her laughter brings a joy to the place that I’m certain couldn’t have been there before. I’ve even seen sour-faced Alby and Gally smiling at her, in a break when they can watch their second-in-command chasing a tiny figure across the grass.  
  
But their hour of play is at an end, and Alby calls for lunch, and we all head for the kitchen.  
  
Things have improved. I’m not sure if it’s because of Arti, or if it’s because I’ve learned to accept a lot of things here. Everyone is nice to me, and everyone loves Arti. Everyone is working harder, and the place looks a little neater than before. And Frypan, one of the sweetest of us, always saves an apple for Arti.  
  
I blame Newt for that—she loves them.  
  
I meet them at the corner of the Gardens, and Newt has her in his arms, breathing hard, but his eyes are lit up, delighted, and Arti is snuggled in to him. He’s grinning when he sees me, “She’s getting faster,” he says, laughing.  
  
I grin at him, and then at her, and I lean in close, kissing the back of her head—her hair is split in to two thick braids, trailing over the front of her shoulders. “I swear, I think she actually likes you chasing her around like you’re both crazy,” I reply, teasing.  
  
He grins at me, delighted, and laughs. “I hope so, or she’s a good little actress,” he says, and he jostles her up carefully. She sighs, nuzzling in to his neck, looking exhausted already. “Tired?”  
  
“Mm-hmm,” she hums, and her arms tighten around his neck. “Thank you for playing with me.”  
  
It never fails—Arti always thanks him, every day, for playing with her. I think she knows how much he works. He does a little of everything; he does what he has to, goes where he’s needed, and Newt is a favorite of everyone. I agree with them. I think I might love him a little bit, if only for how much he cares about Arti…for how much he takes care of her. Shuck, I think I might love him because of how much Arti loves him.  
  
As always, he replies with the same words he usually does, “Thank you for letting me, love,” he says, smiling, squeezing her gently. I think he likes getting away from the responsibility for a bit.  
  
She sighs again, snuggling up to him, looking as content as I’ve ever seen her, and we start walking—we’re usually among the last to get food, so that Arti can catch her breath after playing. But today, she says something else, “I love you, Newt.”  
  
He nearly trips, but I steady him mid-stride with my hand, and he looks shocked. But then, his arms tighten on her even more, and he lets out a heavy breath. I wonder if he’s ever heard those words before. Not all of the boys are looking to get in to my pants—not that they actively show it, considering Arti—but I know of a few who’d gladly have Newt if he’d agree.  
  
It’s not the same thing, of course. It might just be teenage hormones, but it wouldn’t fully surprise me if, indeed, a few of the boys were in love with Newt himself.  
  
But I’m not sure he’s ever heard those words. In fact, I swear I see his eyes shine for a moment, but then, he’s taken a deep breath, and it’s gone. “I love you, too, Arti.”  
  
I know he means it, and I think my heart might burst.  
  
All this time…all that I’ve thought of is Arti. Protecting her, giving her the best life I can. I take care of her every morning, make sure I eat slow so that, if she’s still hungry, she can have some of my food. I put her to bed at night and sleep with her in my arms, humming melodies I don’t know and telling her stories when she gets lonely. I won’t be a Runner—Newt told me about the Grievers, about the moving walls, about getting shut out at night—but I do everything I can to help keep this place running smoothly, to maybe, somehow, someway, get us out quicker. I can’t stand the idea that Arti will have to spend her life here.  
  
She’s just a little girl. A little girl who needs friends her age.  
  
Maybe even parents. I’m not her mother…but I’ve done my best. Sometimes, I feel like I am, for all I do.  
  
But I’ve come to realize…that we all be what we have to be in this place. We do what we have to.  
  
And yet Newt doesn’t have to care for her the way he does. He doesn’t have to play with her, or look after her, or anything—he doesn’t have to love her.  
  
But he does.  
  
She’s already snuggled in to him, eyes closed, resting, and I take the chance. I stand on my toes, kissing his cheek softly, and though he falters again, he manages to keep going. “Thank you,” I murmur.  
  
He looks at me in obvious surprise and fluster, a faint pink coloring his cheeks, but then, he sets his eyes ahead, sounding abashed. “Don’t need to thank me,” he mumbles.  
  
I smile, but I don’t do it again—I’ve clearly discomforted him. Instead, I walk with him in silence, letting him carry her, and I finally speak as we near Frypan. “But I do appreciate you. More than I can begin to explain,” I say, meaning it.  
  
He doesn’t say anything at first, but his arms tighten gently on Arti, and then he sighs. “I love her,” he says, softly. “She’s the best part of this place. I want to take care of her,” he murmurs.  
  
I think on that. I know how Newt feels. He hides it well, but I can see that he’s unhappy. He never shows it to Arti, but I’ve watched him. He carries a heavy burden, more than I can imagine anyone having to bear, and I’ve seen him looking out in to the Maze, staring like he’s a million miles away.  
  
And I know how he feels…because I feel the same. I hate this place. I hate what it’s done. We’re just kids, even if we’re acting like adults. We don’t have parents…we don’t have family, or comfort, or even knowledge. We’re like rats. The one good thing in this place…Arti.  
  
No, that’s a lie.  
  
Newt is good.  
  
Newt makes this place okay. Newt keeps me sane. More than once, I’ve felt utterly alone here; I know all the boys feel that way, too, but they don’t see Arti when she’s tired and homesick for a home she doesn’t remember.  
  
I’ve tried my best.  
  
And in the middle of the night, when her quiet questions keep me awake, wondering how to keep her from feeling such a painful longing, I try to think of what Newt would tell her. Newt is soothing. He’s calm, and he knows what to do. I’m not sure if he’s older than me, but he acts it, often. He’s wise for his age and he can calm Arti down with no effort.  
  
And it’s thinking of him talking Arti down that, often, has given me sleep.  
  
This place would be unbearable without him.  
  
But his words imply something. “Best” implies that there’s something still good. “Best” only exists with a “better.” I pause, allowing myself to turn that over in my mind. “If she’s the best part…then what’s the ‘better’ part?”  
  
I inject a little humor in it, so that he won’t feel obligated to answer. But I see him think, and I wonder if, maybe, he’ll actually answer me. We’re in line for food, and Newt is still holding Arti—I can carry food for all three of us—but we’re near the back. I know he’s smart enough to catch my implication, and he doesn’t pretend he isn’t, when he finally speaks. “Honestly…you,” he says, after a long time.  
  
I feel myself stiffen, and then blush. “…Me?” The question is quiet, barely more than a breath in my surprise. “…Why?”  
  
He thinks for a moment, and I let him. I’m so surprised that I can’t really even think to press him for information. Instead, I just wait, letting the shock wash over me, letting myself take in the surprise and wonder that is his simple answer. It pleases me, too. I don’t know if it means what I want it to mean…but regardless of the whole truth behind that response, it encourages me. It makes me feel a little better, about everything, when I’ve begun to worry and doubt.  
  
But it’s a good few minutes before he replies, and I wonder, at first, if he’ll answer. But when he does, I know he’s thought it over. “Because…you look after this place,” he says, slowly, and I can hear the thought in his words. “You look after us. I know you do it for her…but those times you help everyone else…” he pauses, and I wonder if he’s going to finish. “Telling us to be careful, telling us when we’re being stupid…and you use your head better than any of us. Made a lot of things easier, when you mention we’re being a bit too stupid to see what we’re doing wrong,” he says. I notice that he doesn’t curse as much around Arti. I’m not sure how he filters it—I’ve seen him turn red-faced, swearing wholeheartedly about something bothering him—but he does it all the time when he’s around her. He pauses, and I can see him glance at me, this time. “Feel a bit safer with you here,” he says, and there’s almost a smile on his face.  
  
I can feel the blush surging in to my cheeks, humbled, and trying to repress the urge to kiss him again. It’s not the first, second, or even third time that I’ve wanted to kiss him. It’s happened so many times that I’ve lost count by now, that I couldn’t keep up if I wanted to; it happens every day, multiple times. He’s amazing—looking after Arti…looking after me. He’s sweet, and kind, and I’m certain I love him a little bit. “Thank you,” I say, softly, not knowing what else to tell him.  
  
Thankfully, it’s our turn for food, which spares me my speechlessness.  
  
I balance our food on my forearm and hand, cradling three glasses of water in the other arm, but it’s become easy with time. I’ve done this ever since the first time Newt wore Arti out and carried her to get our food.  
  
We find a table—Alby is with us today, as he often is—and Alby helps me put the food and water down. Newt is already shaking Arti awake gently, settling her down carefully, and I watch her rub her eyes, sniffling. She’ll be totally exhausted for her nap, and I’m glad. “Mom?”  
  
My heart slams against my ribs, twisting, but Newt has his head on a little better than me, “(Name) is here, Arti. And me.”  
  
I feel Alby watching us, also worried. Arti rubs her eyes, looking up at me, and for a moment, I think she’ll cry. But she presses in to my side, ducking up under my arm, climbing in to my lap and holding on to me. “…They’re gone, aren’t they?” The words are sudden, but sure, despite the quietness of them. “Mom and Dad.” I feel it again, that awful feeling like someone has ripped something out of me, leaving a gaping, raw hole in my chest. “I have bad dreams. About fire. And angry people.”  
  
Horror washes over me in ways I’ve never felt. I’ve had nightmares. I can’t identify most of it, but I wake up feeling tortured and scared. Feeling certain that, though I can’t remember the dream, my current reality might, in fact, be somehow better. It’s like the block on my memory won’t even allow me to remember things through dreams—I may dream it, but I can’t remember it when consciousness returns. But I feel it.  
  
Yet, somehow, Arti does. Somehow, the emptiness of my head isn’t the same as hers; somehow, she remembers little things—she’s told me my favorite color, and the letter she thinks my real name starts with—that seem forever gone from my head.  
  
But of all the things she remembers, this is the hardest thing I’ve heard.  
  
Even Newt doesn’t know what to say, and I find myself clutching her to me as tightly as I can, fighting down my tears with all the strength I can. “I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.” I can hear my words trembling. I can feel _me_ trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me you had bad dreams, baby?”  
  
She doesn’t protest my grip. Instead, she seems to appreciate it, pressing in to me. “Because you have them, too,” she says, and that’s the last thing I want to hear. “I heard you crying. You were asleep.”  
  
The hole in my chest is getting bigger. I’m not sure how much of me is left. “Oh, honey, that’s okay. I can handle my bad dreams,” I say, trying to swallow the knot in my throat. “You’re much more important than a bad dream of mine, baby. I want to help you with yours.”  
  
She doesn’t say anything, and I can feel the pain weighing on my chest so fiercely that, though there’s nothing more than her little weight on me, it’s hard to breathe. I feel Newt’s hand, suddenly, on my shoulder, and it shores up some of the walls breaking down in my head. I’ve been tough. I’ve had to be strong for my little sister. I’ve had to find a way to keep my chin up, for her.  
  
But those walls are falling now that I feel like I’ve done nothing for her.  
  
It’s the worst feeling I’ve ever had, to know that she’s suffered.  
  
Newt’s grip, though gentle, is firm, and it roots me in reality. It keeps me sane.  
  
“You look like Mom.”  
  
And there go my walls again—cracking, chipping, crumbling—and I can’t stop the quiet little sob that comes out of me. “She was really pretty, (Name). You’re as pretty as she was.” She pauses, and as tightly as she’s snuggled in to me, I know she can’t understand the pain breaking through me. She can’t see the tears streaming down my face. And as advanced as she is, as smart and as wise as she is for her age, she regresses just as fast, and I feel her shaking in my arms. She’s scared. “I sort of think of you like her. Are you like my mom now? Not my sister?”  
  
I take a trembling gasp, shuddering all over, and I’m afraid I’ll hurt her, as tightly as I’m holding her, but I know I’m going to say anything I can to comfort her, because she’s the only thing I have. I can barely feel Newt holding on to me. “I’ll be whoever you want me to be, baby,” I say, my voice shaking.  
  
She’s silent now, and I know she’s thinking, maybe even crying. It breaks me more than anything else. If I had arrived alone, it would be different. If I’d come up without her, with no memories…maybe I’d be as tough, maybe I wouldn’t. But I know I’d be terrified. I’d be lost, and scared of all these boys, and I’d be afraid of what would happen to me.  
  
But with her…she’s the only important thing. She’s the only thing that matters.  
  
And I’ll be whatever I have to be for her.  
  
The Grievers hold no terror for me. I think being stuck overnight in the Maze would cause me less distress than her pain, her fear, her heartbreak.  
  
The Creators could not find a better way of torturing me than to do this to my Arti.  
  
If anything will break me, if anything will defeat me, if anything will destroy all that I am…  
  
It’s what they’ve done to her.  
  
If and when we get out…I’ll kill them.  
  
Every one. I’ll do it with my bare hands if I must, but I will hold no remorse for their deaths, when they’ve done this to a child.  
  
Death is too good for them.  
  
But I won’t let anyone who would do this to a child live to do it to another.  
  
Her voice finally pulls me from the murderous thoughts in my head, “Can I call you 'Mom’ when that’s what I’m thinking?”  
  
The rage of my thoughts has made those words easier to bear…but I still feel an ache in my chest for her burden. “Of course, baby. Whatever you want.”  
  
She thanks me, and despite all that has passed, the pain in my chest and the rage in my head, I eat, making sure she does, too, and Alby gives me the rest of the day off, looking more sour-faced than ever. But I know he’s carrying sorrow beneath that. Even he hates to see Arti this way.  
  
The others haven’t truly been confronted with this. They don’t know about her questions, or her worries, or her fears. She usually waits, until it’s night and there’s nothing to distract her from all her questions.  
  
I carry her to our room, and I put her to bed. She’s tired, and for a while, I just lie with her, combing my fingers through her hair, until she can sleep, and when she does, I leave the room, pacing the hall, too afraid to get too far away.  
  
I hear her whimpering.  
  
Nightmares.  
  
How did I not know? How could I not know that she had bad dreams, too?  
  
I wake her up to pull her out of it, and put her back to sleep again a few minutes later, hoping she’ll rest.  
  
But it’s clear she’s been holding back. It isn’t long before she’s crying again, and I don’t know what to do.  
  
This time, I find her with a fever.  
  
That is the last thing I can take. I carry her to the Med-jacks, and they give her medicine and a cold cloth, and for once, when she goes to sleep, she doesn’t begin to cry or whimper immediately.  
  
I don’t want to leave her.  
  
But Jeff tells me I should wash the bed clothes while he takes care of her—and he swears he won’t leave her side, and I know he’s right.  
  
I should make sure she won’t get worse.  
  
The monotony and routine of washing the fabric is soothing after the day I’ve had. I wonder if her illness is why she burst out at lunch today. Maybe she wasn’t feeling well even then…  
  
But once I’ve strung our bed clothes out to dry, I go back to see her, and Jeff promises she’s been asleep. He says he’s been fighting her fever down, and though she’s a little restless, she looks better. She looks healthier, and more peaceful, and that, alone, is enough to slow down the chaos in my head.  
  
I sit with her, and Jeff does, too; he might not know a lot, but he knows enough, and so do I. We work her fever down and keep her asleep, feeding her soup—Frypan is an angel—and making her drink water. And when night falls, Newt walks in with Alby, the former carrying a glass of dark, sweet-smelling liquid.  
  
…Apple juice.  
  
Jeff and I wake Arti, and we help her sit up gently, and she rubs her eyes, looking up at Newt. Alby pats him on the shoulder, saying he’ll be back in a moment, and Jeff leaves, too, to get another bowl of cold water, and a little more medicine.  
  
Newt takes Jeff’s makeshift seat beside the bed, and he smiles at her. “I heard you’ve been sick,” he says, and his voice is soft and low.  
  
She sniffles quietly, and I can see how tired she is. “Uh-huh,” she says, rubbing her eyes. “Jeff and Mom are looking after me.”  
  
The name twists my heart again. But I don’t protest. I can’t. “Hm,” he hums, and he touches her shoulder softly. “Well, I have something to make you feel better,” he says, and he offers her the glass—it’s only half-full, but the juice looks rich. “Frypan and I made you some apple juice.”  
  
I want to kiss him again.  
  
She holds the glass in both hands, and I see her shaking. Whatever she has is making her weak. But she takes several sips of it, humming delightedly, and though I know she’s still sick, I swear she looks happier than I’ve ever seen her. “Thank you,” she says, and I could squeeze her breathless. She’s the sweetest thing in the world. I know it.  
  
He smiles at her, and I feel some of the holes punched in me begin to fill back up. I love seeing him with her. He’s good with her. I wonder if, maybe, he had a sister, before the world was ripped out of us, and we were ripped from it. “Is it okay if I stay with you, while (Name) makes up your bed?” She nods, and he looks at me. “Is that alright?”  
  
I nod, and I thank him—I like Jeff, and I trust him, but Newt…well, no one is better than Newt, for my Arti.  
  
Maybe I am her mother now.  
  
I take a breath, and I allow myself to focus on making my bed. She’s so sick…I wonder if she’ll get to sleep with me tonight, or if I’ll have to sleep in a chair next to her.  
  
I don’t mind if I do.  
  
It’s for her, after all.  
  
But I make my bed up, and I put an extra blanket at the foot, just in case; if I need it for her, all I have to do is pull it up.  
  
At last, though, I return to her, and I find Newt sitting with her, talking to her quietly, and Jeff in my place, checking her over, measuring out a little more medicine. He’s not giving her much—he doesn’t want to overdose her—but I can tell he’s as worried as the rest of us.  
  
She’s laughing, at least a little, and that, alone, is an immense comfort. I feel a light tap on my shoulder, and I turn to see Alby standing there, frowning, looking at Jeff. “How’s she doing?”  
  
“Gonna be fine,” he says, and I sigh deeply. “But I wanna keep her here tonight. Let me keep giving her medicine, make sure her fever stays down,” he says, and I see he’s worried about saying it.  
  
My chest tightens. “I’ll stay with her.”  
  
“No,” Alby says, softly, and I know he’s trying to be gentle. “You need to get some sleep, so you don’t get sick with her.”  
  
Newt told me, earlier, that I was the one who told them when they were being stupid. I think, in this case, it’s the very opposite. I know he’s right—if what she has is catching, I need sleep and rest to boost my immune system to fight it off.  
  
That doesn’t mean I like it. I don’t like the idea of not sleeping with her. I don’t like the idea of her spending a night without me.  
  
She comforts me, after all. I feel better, having her safely wrapped in my arms, knowing she’ll be there when I wake up. I hate the idea that, even if it’s just one night, I’ll have that bed to myself.  
  
I should be happy about it.  
  
I’m not.  
  
Newt stands, slowly, approaching me. “I’ll stay with her, until she goes to sleep. You can get her first thing when you wake up.”  
  
I don’t want to agree. But his big, brown eyes are pleading with me, and I feel myself crumbling. Maybe I should rest.  
  
It’s just one night.  
  
I reluctantly approach the bed, taking Newt’s seat, and I look at her. “Is this okay with you, Arti? Just for a night? Jeff will take good care of you, and I’ll come and see you first thing in the morning. Is that okay?”  
  
I want her to say no, so that I have an excuse not to have that bed that, in reality, is only big enough for me, to myself. But she looks at me, and then at Newt. “You’re gonna stay with me until I fall asleep?”  
  
He smiles at her, and he plops down on the end of the little bed she’s on. “Definitely. But (Name) needs some sleep. Am I good enough for a little while?”  
  
She looks at him, and I see her little hands tighten on the glass. Most of the juice is gone already, and I swear I could kiss him for how much attention he pays her, for how much he loves her. “Uh-huh.”  
  
Alby leaves with some well-wishes for Arti, and a stern reminder that I need to go to bed soon. Jeff, too, leaves again; he says he’s going to get some food for both of them for the night, some medicine, and anything he might need to last the night, looking after her.  
  
I reach out, and I softly tug one of Arti’s braids. “Shall I take them out before you sleep?” She nods, and I appreciate it. It gives me another few moments with her.  
  
My fingers pull, carefully, at the twists in her hair, and I comb through it carefully, knowing it’ll be easier to sleep without it pulled tightly. She sighs, and I know it’s putting her to sleep; she likes having her hair played with. “Newt?”  
  
He hums, and I realize he’s moved up the bed—he’ll probably take my seat when I leave—when I hear his voice. “Yes, love?”  
  
She’s got that look on her face again that I found so intense the first time I saw it in the Box. It’s that soul-piercing stare. “Is it okay if I call you 'Dad’ sometimes?”  
  
It’s his turn to freeze up, but it doesn’t stop my face from flushing with heat. I know she doesn’t quite understand the implications of calling me her mother and him her father, but my brain still knows it well…and I won’t deny my affection for him. Still, he looks at me, and for a moment, I see him think. But I begin speaking, before I even realize the words have formed in my head, “Newt might not like that, sweetheart,” I say, keeping my voice gentle.  
  
“I don’t mind,” he says, surprising me. “But why?”  
  
I think I know. But I wait to see what she says, and despite her illness, she gives herself a moment to think. “Because you love me. And you play with me…and take care of me, like I think my real Dad would have,” she says, and I see the tears coming to her eyes. “If you don’t like it, I won’t call you that.”  
  
He smiles at her, and I can see the sadness in it. “It’s okay, love. You can call me that. Little girls need a mother and father, especially when they don’t feel well,” he says.  
  
I could kiss him. Again.  
  
But Jeff is coming back in, and Newt turns to me. “You go to bed. I’ll stay with her until she’s asleep.”  
  
I don’t want to. But I obey him, reluctantly, and I trudge to my room after I tell Arti I love her, and kiss the top of her head.  
  
But sleep never comes.  
  
As small as the bed is, only made for one, it still feels too big without Arti cuddled to my chest. I can’t get comfortable, even when I put a pillow where she should be, and the sleeplessness takes over my brain.  
  
I knew Arti missed our parents. Of course she does. It’s only natural, for someone of her age, for someone young like her, particularly someone who hardly remembers things. For someone who doesn’t know her real name.  
  
But to see her so longing…to have her compare me to her mother, our mother…it has nearly broken me.  
  
And her nightmares…fire, and angry people? What does she mean? The block on my memory feels like it’s pulling at those words, like it doesn’t even want me to know those. I struggle with my thoughts for what seems an eternity, wrestling to try and find sleep, but other thoughts are more fierce.  
  
Thoughts that I’ve failed Arti. As hard as I’ve tried, I haven’t spared her those dark thoughts, the nightmares, the longing for parents. I thought, maybe, if I kept trying, if I could make things good enough, she wouldn’t want so much. She wouldn’t feel like she needed the things I can’t give her.  
  
I thought…if I could make things better here, if I could make this place home to her, that it would be enough.  
  
But it wasn’t…  
  
And I’m not enough, either. I’m not our parents.  
  
I know I’m crying, but this is the one chance I have to do it, when Arti isn’t here to worry about me.  
  
I hope I can let it all out so that I won’t ever cry in my sleep again, so that I won’t ever make her feel like she can’t tell me she has nightmares.  
  
How could she think she can’t rely on me? Couldn’t tell me something?  
  
“(Name), (Name), come on, love,” I hear, an eternity later, and possibly only because I’m being shaken.  
  
My face feels dry and my eyes are burning and I feel snotty. It’s hard to breathe and my vision is blurry, but I blink, trying to see.  
  
…Of course it’s Newt.  
  
He rubs his thumbs over my tears, “Come on, love. Come back.”  
  
…Where did I go? I feel his sigh when I move to rub my face, and he pulls me to him so tightly that, even without the crying, I’d be breathless. “Can you say my name? Please?”  
  
I shudder, “Newt,” I manage, but my voice sounds croaky.  
  
“Thank shuck,” he says, and he nuzzles the side of my head—mine is buried in his shoulder. “(Name), what’s wrong?”  
  
I shake my head, not wanting to tell him, because I know I’ll just cry again. But he pushes me, and I finally spill it all out as fast as I can, and yet I still cry, trying not to be loud, for fear of waking someone else.  
  
He holds me. He lets me cry it all out, rubbing my back, murmuring soft words to me, and he lets me work myself down, until I’m just sniffling, pressed gently in to his collar.  
  
And it’s all for her. I don’t care about me. I can’t. I can’t find the capacity to worry about myself, about my nightmares or my wants or needs…I’m just worried about her, about how horrible this all is, how terrible she must feel, how scared and lonely she must be.  
  
I tell him everything; how I know I’m not enough and how I’ve tried so hard to be what she needs, how I’ve tried to do everything I know to do and yet it’s all for naught and how I’d give anything for her not to have to be here.  
  
But he shushes me, gently, and he holds me until I can’t speak anymore, waits me out until I’m exhausted to my soul. “You’re good enough, love,” he says softly, and he pulls at me gently, so he can look at me. “You love her. That’s what’s important. And you’ve given her everything you have, (Name),” he murmurs, pushing my hair out of my face, brushing away more of my tears. “You can’t make her not want her parents. I know shanks in this place that still want their parents. Trust me, love…she’s doing well. And she’s doing well because of you.”  
  
I want to protest, but I’m too tired to think of a way to explain to him what I’m thinking. And maybe I’m thinking too much. “You, too,” I sniffle.  
  
“Hmm?” He’s watching me, and I see his head tilt. “What about me?”  
  
I feel dizzy, but I fight it. It must be my exhaustion. “You, too. You take care of her, too,” I say, sniffling. “You play with her and keep her happy, too.”  
  
He smiles at me, but I can see how tired he is. And I can see worry in his eyes. “Maybe. But trust me, love…it’s you she needs. You she loves.”  
  
“She loves you too,” I mumble, feeling my breathing starting to level out, finally. “Needs you.” I smile wryly, suddenly. “She asked to call you 'Dad’ earlier. I think that’s a pretty good indicator.”  
  
He laughs softly, and that, more than anything, eases some of my pain. “She calls you 'Mom,’ love.” I can hear the warmth in his voice, teasing. But his face falls, and he squeezes me gently—he hasn’t let go of me yet. “Trust me, (Name). You’ve made this place better. And it might be hard for her…but she’s tough. She’s strong, like you,” he says, keeping his voice soft. “And you help her, every day.”  
  
I hesitate, but I lean back in to him, cuddling myself in to his arms. “I just…I would give anything to give her our parents back. I don’t care about me. I just…I want her safe, and happy.”  
  
His arms tighten on me, and I feel the rigidity of his muscles, his stiffness. “You should look after yourself, too,” he says, slowly. “Arti isn’t the only one who wants you here. Needs you here.”  
  
I think that over, but I don’t pull away from him yet. I let the idea roll over me, that, maybe, I’m needed. Maybe…I’m wanted.  
  
I hesitate. Even through my exhaustion, I know I won’t be able to sleep just yet. My head is still spinning with thoughts. “What about you, Newt? Do you want me here?”  
  
His arms tighten again, and I relish in the feeling of being cared for. I’m so used to being the one doing the caring, to being the comforter, the care-giver. “Love, 'want’ isn’t strong enough. I need you here,” he says, his voice soft.  
  
I hesitate again, but I press in to him, and he gladly welcomes me, shifting to let me move closer, and in our position, I’m in his lap, curled in his arms. “Can I ask what this is?” My voice is soft, but I let that thought take me over. I can’t keep thinking on what I have or haven’t done for Arti. Maybe, just tonight, I should think of me…even if it’s just for a moment.  
  
He doesn’t say anything, at first, but I know he’ll reply. He’s holding me still; he hasn’t tried to get away from me. “What do you want it to be?” The question is soft, but level.  
  
I think for a moment, and then I sigh. “Well…I guess…that depends. How do you feel about me?”  
  
It’s a lot to ask. I know it. But he still hasn’t pushed me off. Hasn’t tried to get away from the conversation. I’m glad he’s staying with me, letting us both try to figure out what we are. Much of our time is spent together, if only because of Arti. She loves Newt. …I’m certain I do, too. “I think…I love you,” he says, after a long pause. “Of course, having no shuckin’ memories, I won’t swear to anything…but I know I’m very fond of you. I definitely fancy you,” he says.  
  
I know he’s put a lot of thought in to that. I know I’ve put a lot of thought in to what I’m going to say, too; I think of him when I hear him playing with Arti, when I’m working in the Gardens, when I’m fighting to get to sleep. I think of how he comforted us when we first arrived. How he looked after us. “I…know I love you,” I say, slowly. “I think…I think, at first, it was because of how much you cared for Arti, but now…I love you for you,” I admit, allowing myself to test the words. “For all your heart…I don’t know how I couldn’t. I’m not sure if I was ever in love before…but I’m certain that’s what this is.”  
  
He looks at me for a long time, but then, he lifts his hand, tipping my chin up with his finger. “Can I kiss you?”  
  
I smile, and I lean in, doing it first; I find his lips with mine, and he exhales sharply, but soon, he’s leaning in to me, kissing me back, and it feels so good. I feel like I’ve kissed him before, like our lips know each other well. His fingers tangle in my hair and pull me in to him, and we kiss until we’re breathless, and at last, he leans his forehead against mine as we catch our breath.  
  
But his face contorts, and I blink at him, about to ask when he speaks, “I think you have a little fever, love.” He pulls back, lifting his head, and his lips press against my forehead, and he groans. “You do. Come on. I guess you get to stay with Arti tonight, anyway,” he murmurs.  
  
He pushes me off his lap and stands, and he pulls me up after him, and I find myself wobbly. “…Mm-mmm. Lemme go myself. You’re already likely to get sick, after playing with Arti…and you just kissed me, too,” I mumble.  
  
“Absolutely not. I’m not gonna watch you break your shuck neck walking down the stairs the way you are.” He wraps his arm around my hip, and he escorts me to the Med-jacks, but he doesn’t leave me with them; he disappears long enough to get me a bowl of soup, and he feeds me medicine when I begin showing the same symptoms Arti did. I feel weak and tired, and he looks after me, fluffing my pillows and layering me in blankets, feeding me soup and water at regular intervals.  
  
In one of my brief moments of consciousness—I suspect he’s intentionally keeping me sleepy—I just lie there, looking at him. “I think Arti should call you 'Mom’ instead,” I mumble, after a while.  
  
He blinks at me, looking worried. “What?”  
  
“You worry as much as a mom. And you’re as caring as one. And as sweet as one.” I yawn, snuggling in to my pillow. “I mean, you’ve spoon-fed me soup.”  
  
He looks relieved, and bursts out laughing. “Like you could’ve held the spoon level, shank,” he says, and I hear the warmth in his voice.  
  
“Mom?”  
  
The voice is tiny and tired, and I feel her climbing on to the bed before I can answer her. “Jeff says I can stay with you. Are you sick, too?”  
  
She’s already curling in to my chest like she always does, and it comforts me. “Yeah. Newt’s taking care of me,” I say, wrapping my arm around her gently. I already feel better, having her safely in my grasp, and I see Newt smiling at both of us. “Though I told him not to. He’s gonna get sick, too.”  
  
She sighs, but she looks at him. “Then we can take care of him. He always takes care of us,” she says, nodding, but it’s broken by a heavy yawn.  
  
I stroke her hair gently, pulling it behind her head and out of her way. “He does. I think it’s only fair we return the favor when he catches this.” She hums quietly, and I chuckle. “Thank you, Newt.”  
  
“Mm,” he hums, but he reaches out, stroking Arti’s shoulder softly. “Well, I have to take care of my girls,” he says, keeping his voice low. “I love them.”  
  
Arti stirs—she was probably almost asleep—and she looks up at him, wide-eyed. “You love (Name), too?”  
  
He smiles at her, and then at me over her shoulder. “I do. Very much,” he confirms softly, his smile gentle. “Is that okay with you, Arti?”  
  
She reaches out to him, and he lets her take his hand. “I’m glad you love her. She’s always looking out for me. Somebody has to look after her.”  
  
I could cry with joy, I think, for how sweet she is, and I swoop in, kissing her crown softly, squeezing her in a tight hug. “Oh, I’m not worried about me, love. I’m tough. But we’ll all look after each other. How’s that sound?”  
  
She grins over her shoulder at me, delighted, but she snuggles in to me again, holding on to Newt. “When you start feeling sick, you can climb in behind her. I don’t think you’ll fit anywhere else,” she says, and then yawns, clutching his hand a little tighter. “We can all three get better together.”  
  
He smiles, and he uses his free hand to push her hair back gently, stroking her head gently, careful with her. “I think I’m gonna try to get you two better before I get sick, if I can,” he says, and he puts his hand on her forehead gently. “You’re getting better. Now for (Name),” he says, and I see a little twinkle in his eye.  
  
He leans in, kissing my forehead softly. “You’re both cooling down. I think maybe you should rest while you can.”  
  
I want to argue with him, but I’m tired, and I feel a little flushed from his kiss. “You shouldn’t kiss me until I can return the favor without risking your health,” I mumble, and I hear Arti giggle quietly. “And what are you laughing at?”  
  
She grins at me, and then at Newt. “I sorta have a mom and dad now,” she says, smiling. “You guys are together now. Like a mom and dad.”  
  
Newt meets my eyes over her head, and he smiles, sweeping in to kiss the top of her head softly. “Well, if that’s okay with (Name), it’s okay with me,” he says.  
  
I smile, unable to help it. Arti sounds delighted with the notion. “It’s okay with me,” I say softly, smiling.  
  
She snuggles deeper in to my chest, and yet she’s holding Newt’s hand, seeming unwilling to let go. “Thank you,” she says, and she squeezes his hand. “Goodnight. I love you guys.”  
  
In surprising unison, we both speak, “We love you, too, Arti.”  
  
Maybe…for her, we’re good enough, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! So far, that's all I have for this story, though I've had a "part three" to be requested—we'll see if I eventually get the inspiration to continue it.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this!


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